Posted on Dec 7, 2022 in
On the Porch with Patti
Christmas in Texas is not for the faint of heart as the season’s temp tends to match my internal temp – well into the 90s.
By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
I know that the calendar says it’s December. I know that my Christmas tree is up, and I know that I’m making a list and checking it twice. But if I see one more tv commercial about making sure my heater is in good working order for the winter weather, I’m going to lose it. My AC is working overtime, I haven’t even turned on my fireplace and I’m ready to cut all of the sleeves off of my Christmas sweaters. It’s a Christmas vest for me. It’s ho, ho hotter than Hades this Christmas in Texas, and I am not here for it.
This past weekend Mr. Kaminski and I attended a lovely holiday party. Of course, I had to completely change my wardrobe when I learned the evening low was in the 70s instead of a cheerful holiday 50s. It was a typical Houston-area evening – muggy, sticky, icky – virtually every nasty word that ends in “y.” But I foraged and found the cutest short sleeve holiday dress adorned with sequins and marabou feathers. I was representing, despite the dreary, dismal display Mother Nature put forth.
Knowing that it would add to my internal temperature if I left it down and astray, I put all of my hair up. It took 19 clips, an engineer and an entire can of hair spray, but I prevailed, and I was ready to face the humid horror. As we prepared to depart, Mr. Kaminski, ever the gentleman, held the door open for me to walk to the car, and the sauna slapped me in the face. I nearly ran over the man as I hustled back into the controlled temperature of the house and imparted specific departure instructions. Mr. Kaminski was to go to the car, turn the air conditioning on full blast for a minimum of two minutes, then I would quickly dash out of the house to the awaiting, chilled vehicle and get in. There was no time for chivalry under these treacherous circumstances.
The party was fabulous but hot, so I drank copious amounts of red wine, which made me hotter than Georgia asphalt in July. At one point I ran into a friend who promptly informed me that even her underwear was a ball of sweat. I could commiserate. I already knew there were various unmentionables as part of my evening attire that I likely could not salvage when I got home.
While the sequin dress was a hit, sequins are definitely for cooler temps. Unbeknownst to me, the gorgeous glittery gowns tend to get sticky when damp. I was tuggin’ and squirmin’ all night trying to get myself unstuck in various hills and valleys, of course, trying to be as discreet as possible, because this was not a dance party, so my moves could not easily be disguised as if I were in a discotheque.
I was never so relieved to get home and get that dress off. Unfortunately, the shedding of the sequins revealed another interesting fact about the shiny studs: not only do they get sticky when damp, the colors tend to bleed. Let’s just say when I stripped down, I looked like a bag of holiday M & M’s. I was red and green in places that should never see those colors unless you require prompt medical attention. And I mentioned that the dress had feathers, right? I’m guessing birds molt when it’s damp because there were green feathers everywhere. I got in the shower, much to Mr. Kaminski’s chagrin, as he was yelling, “Don’t get those feathers in the shower! They will stop up the drain.” I assure you, at that point, a plumber’s bill was the least of Mr. Kaminski’s concerns. We’ll miss him this Christmas.
Ho, ho, hugs! See y’all next week – on the porch!
Patti Parish-Kaminski
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